


Claim a Warrior's Heart

by asexualrey



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Blood and Injury, M/M, Magic, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Romance, dragon rider au, the romance will be more of a side plot
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-15
Updated: 2016-08-16
Packaged: 2018-08-09 00:37:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,578
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7780132
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/asexualrey/pseuds/asexualrey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Lance has never set foot outside the valley before. But one day a stranger shows up in the village, and he's suddenly faced with a destiny bigger than anything he could have imagined.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue

The rain was relentless, carried at a slant by the howling winds. There were no stars and no moon, no light at all to illuminate the clumsy, stumbling footsteps of a dark figure making his way blindly through the raging storm. The wood was thick, thicker than he’d anticipated. It was good for cover, but hard to maneuver through in the pitch dark. Branches clawed at him, snagged his clothes and scratched his cheeks. His feet tangled in the underbrush, but he couldn’t slow, even when he tripped and was consumed with pain. He clutched at his side, wet and hot with blood, and the leg that had taken the arrow would hardly cooperate.

It was the sound of brush being trampled behind him that allowed him to get to his feet again. He limped as fast as his wounds would allow, fueled by the approaching sounds of his pursuers. He would not let them catch up. He was so close, he could feel his blood singing in his veins and the marrow in his bones drawing him onward. It wouldn’t be long now.

He’d had to abandon his horse when the wood got too dense, but so had his chasers. A horse would be nice about now, though. He’d almost prefer a horse race to stumbling and limping his way through this tangle. His leg throbbed, agony spiking through the length of it with every step, and the wound in his side made it hard to breathe. Blood spilled through his fingers in alarming quantity. It was probably better that there was no moon out; he was surely leaving a trail of crimson behind him. He longed to spark light in his palm, but didn’t dare.

His head began to spin. He tried to breathe deeply, but it only caused deep, burning pain to sear through his side. His limbs were heavy with exhaustion. He was getting dangerously close to collapsing, he knew, but he was so _close_. He had to make it. He refused to come so far only to fall into the hands of his enemy.

The storm raged and thrashed, bringing down branches and whipping leaves through the air. The cold rain stung his face and numbed his fingers. Already his pace had slowed, and though he could no longer hear his pursuers, he wasn’t ready to believe they’d fallen behind. He pushed on.

When at last the trees began to thin, he could have cried in relief. He was reduced to walking hunched over, an arm wrapped around his abdomen, his lame leg dragging behind. His own breathing was heavy and ragged in his ears and his vision swam sickeningly.

The light in the distance was like a beacon from an Entity. Beneath the pain he was suffering, he could feel a cord being struck somewhere in his mind, like a sixth sense screaming, “ _He’s here! Find him!”_

The village was small, nestled snugly in the crook of the valley. Cottages with low, thatched roofs circled the outside with roads leading inward to what must be the square and the market. Below the noise of the storm, animals lowed and brayed and bleated from their shelters in the paddocks and stables. He was sure that if he was in a position to take it in, he would have found it quaint and maybe even nostalgic. He took down one of the roads, desperation pushing his injured body forward. Lanterns burned beside some of the doors, giving off just enough light for him to make his way by.

He needed to find an inn or something of the sort as soon as possible. He was growing dizzier, weaker by the second as blood continued to pour from his wounds. It was all he could do to stay upright. The road wound up and down a hill towards the center of town. He made it to a small bridge that crossed a flooded brook before stopping completely for the first time in a long while to catch his breath. For a moment he closed his eyes, willing his surroundings to stop spinning, but a moment later he opened them again and nothing had changed. A glance back at the forest showed no signs of his pursuers. He’d be safer in the cover of the village, but he didn’t want to take chances all the same. He had to… He had to keep moving.

But when he took his next step, the ground rolled under his feet like the deck of a ship being tossed in the sea. Spots danced in his vision, and he wasn’t sure if the roaring rush in his ears was from the storm or his own head. Something suddenly slammed into his shoulder. It took a while to realize it was the ground.

He couldn’t move. He could hardly feel the rain pelting his face. There was nothing he could do to stop the darkness from spreading like spilled ink across his vision. His last thought before succumbing to it was a prayer, a plea for him not to die before completing his quest. 


	2. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello!
> 
> i'd like to put out a few disclaimers at the beginning of this. the first is that i'm taking many, many liberties with this story. i don't really have time to do a lot of in-depth research, and since this is fantasy, i ask that you excuse anything that may be historically, medically, or otherwise inaccurate unless there are any absolutely glaring, inexcusable errors. but you know how fiction is ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> secondly, don't expect quick updates. i'm a terribly slow writer. please be patient with me. if i get anywhere close to finishing this story, it'll be a miracle, honestly, but i'm going to do my best. 
> 
> please enjoy!

There was a prickling under his skin. He felt it often, but it seemed to be the most prominent during storms, when the rain pounded on the windows and the wind howled like it wanted inside his house and thunder rolled and rumbled in the distance. He never talked about it to anyone. What would he say? He already felt guilty enough for wanting to leave the valley. He could never look his mother in the eye and tell her that he wanted to set out to find a more exciting life.

Still, he could not silence the voice in the recesses of his mind that seemed to be screaming, _“Go! There’s something important for you to do out there!”_ He sat in the dirt beneath the crooked hemlock tree and the damp soaked into his pants and every fiber of his being seemed to be drawn toward the tree line, toward the blue silhouette of the mountains that he could barely see through the mist shrouding the valley.

But he had resigned himself long ago to the fact that he would never actually set foot outside this village. He wasn’t upset, really. He had a good life here. And as his mother was fond of reminding him, only the Entities knew what kinds of troubles and dangers lied beyond the thick wood that bordered their home. There were monsters and thieves and Galra out there. There were Galra in Yorra sometimes too, of course, but at least they didn’t hurt anybody, unless there was some sort of radical incident. Nothing extreme had happened since he’d been in his seventh year, cowering behind his mother’s skirts like a frightened hen.

Birdsong rang through the air above his head, shrill and crisp in the misty morning air. Rain dripped from the branches and beat upon the ground steadily. It had stormed harder during the night, but had since slowed to a soothing autumn shower and he’d taken the opportunity to sit outside for a bit before the town woke. He’s always loved the rain. His mother liked to chastise him for going out in it, but he’d only caught chills a handful of times when the air was too cold. He was more careful now that he’d reached the age of sixteen and was depended upon more heavily. _“You’re almost grown, Lance,”_ his mother had said to him one night. _“And now that Caden has left, I’m counting on you to be the man of the house. Can you do that?”_ He had nodded vigorously in reply. Letting his mother down was the last thing in the world he wanted to do.

He had been unbearably angry the day he’d watched his brother pack up his things and ride out of the valley for the first and last time. Abandoning their family like that—it was absolutely unthinkable. Lance had been fifteen already, but he’d shook with rage and hurt. Caden had always talked of leaving, and Lance used to listen with stars in his eyes as his brother wove tales of the adventures he would have one day, but when he’d actually watched him leave—when he was old enough to understand what it meant for their family—he could hardly stand it. He didn’t want to abandon their mother like Caden had. Like their father had. His older sister had wept, which made his younger siblings do the same. Lance was the only one who hadn’t shed a tear. He was the eldest son now, the burden passed on to him at fourteen, and two years later he thought he had been doing a good job in Caden’s absence.

The sun was preparing to rise over the crest of the mountains. Some of the fog shrouding the valley was already beginning to be burned away. Soon the village would be bathed in soft early morning light and wake the townspeople, but for the moment Lance enjoyed the cool shadow that still shaded their glen and the cool mist that hung in the air. Early morning was his favorite time of day. And it was still barely warm enough to walk barefoot through the dewy grass in the meadow, so he took advantage of it before the weather grew too cold.

When the rain stopped and the clouds began to clear to make way for the first rays of sun, he rose from his spot and brushed off his tunic. He wanted to get to the market early to get first pick of the day’s fruit and see the preparations for the autumn festival, but before heading out he first he made his way round to the pen at the back of the house. Their family only owned a few animals; a mare, a goat, some hens, and a pair of dogs his younger brother had brought home once, but they were well-loved.

Lance opened the hatch to the chicken coop, scooped a handful of seed from the basket that sat inside the crude shed, and scattered it on the ground. The hens wandered out the door soon after, eager for breakfast. The other animals stirred as well, and Lance was quick to open their stalls and feed them too. He took a minute to scratch the mare on her withers and feed her a carrot he’d taken for his own breakfast.

After he’d finished tending to the animals, he ducked inside the house to grab his cloak, leather bag, and the pouch of coins, which he secured to his belt beneath the swaths of thick wool. The cloak used to be Caden’s. It smelled of clean soap and was soft with years of wear. It hung a bit loosely off his thin shoulders, but he’d always been skinnier than his elder brother. That probably wouldn’t ever change.

He was about to head out the door again when the floor creaked.

“Lance?”

A sleepy face peered at him from around the corner. Lance smiled warmly and dropped down to one knee. “Hey, Rina. What are you doing up so early?”

The small girl yawned. “Are you going to the market?”

“Yeah. I’m just about to head out.”

“Can I go with you?”

Lance hesitated for a moment, looking down into his younger sister’s eager blue eyes. She was only six, but Lance had already seen the same adventurous spirit that dwelled within his own self and in Caden inside her. He reached out to ruffle her hair. “Sure. Go get dressed. Just don’t wake Mama.”

The girl smiled widely. “Okay!”

The grin lingered on Lance’s lips as she scampered back to their bedroom. Out of his three younger siblings, Rina was the one he connected with the best. She was wild and unruly and never would sit still. He understood well. When she grew especially restless, Lance would take her outside before she made their mother start pulling her hair out, like Caden used to do with Lance when he was small. He would play games and chase her a short ways into the forest, send her on quests for things like acorns and bits of string, things that would keep her busy. It made him miss Caden, but rekindled his old anger all the same.

Rina was the only one to ever ask to join Lance in his daily chores. The rest were content to stay in the cottage and do their own work, but Rina looked for an opportunity to go into town whenever she could. Lance usually let her tag along on his outings.

She emerged a mere minute later, donned in her favorite dress and wrapped in a shawl. “Lance, can we ride Sel to the square?”

“I don’t see why not.” He smiled broadly again and followed her out to the back.

Rina bounced up and down excitedly while Lance threw a saddle blanket over the mare’s back and fitted the bridle over her head. When he’d finished, he turned around a gave a bow to his sister, sweeping an arm toward the horse. “Milady.”

Rina giggled and held her arms out eagerly and Lance lifted her onto Sel’s back. He usually wouldn’t bother to take the tired old mare for something as simple as a trip to the market, unless he knew he’d be coming back with more than he could carry, but he made exceptions for his sister once in a while. He led the horse out of the paddock and onto the main road before swinging easily onto the blanket behind his sister.

The village was beginning to wake. People were opening windows and feeding animals, checking over gardens for damage from the storm, setting out laundry. The smell of baking breads wafted from doorways. Lance’s stomach growled.

He let Rina keep the reigns. She knew how to ride and she knew the way to the square, so he sat back and enjoyed the ride. He knew he looked funny on the small mare; he was too big and his long legs dangled awkwardly from her sides, but Sel was a sturdy horse. He dreamed of one day acquiring a stallion to ride, but he wasn’t holding his breath.

“What are we buying at the market, Lance?” Rina asked.

“Mama needs some more grain and bee balm. I wanted to get some fruit.”

“To make jam?”

“Maybe. Depends on how the apples look.”

“I want a blackberry tart!”

Lance flicked her gently in the back of her head. “It’s not the season for blackberries, dummy.”

Rina was unfazed. “Then I want an apple tart!”

“We’ll see,” Lance hummed. “You know they’re decorating for the harvest festival, right?”

“Oh!” Rina gasped. “I forgot! Are there going to be pumpkins?”

“I dunno. Guess we’ll see when we get there.”

Sel walked leisurely down the winding dirt road, hooves clopping pleasantly on the hard-packed earth. Rina played to herself and Lance half-listened to her babble, but his mind wandered. He felt a little strange. His heart was beating faster than normal, and the restlessness he’d felt earlier during the storm wasn’t going away. It was getting worse, like an itch that he couldn’t scratch. He’d felt this way many times, but it usually only lasted until he made himself busy. Keeping his mind on his chores always kept it at bay. But today he felt…distracted, in a way he never had before. He fidgeted in his seat on the mare’s back, swinging his leg and tapping his fingers on his thigh.

What was this? The voice was back in his mind, whispering incessantly, but it was muddled. He felt as if there was something important right under his nose, and something inside him was drawing him to it. But—that didn’t make any sense. He must be imaging things.

And yet, as Sel carried them further down the road, the feeling grew and grew. Something wasn’t right.

He would ignore it. It was probably just his overactive imagination. That’s what Lynn would say.

 

—

 

The market was a busy place, even this early in the morning. It would get busier later, but there were still plenty of townsfolk milling around at this hour. Merchants sold their wares from the windows of chanteys and from under wooden stalls. Yorra was a small village, but travelers came through often enough to keep the shops and inns in good business. When Lance was a boy, he used to hang around the taverns and inns with Caden, listening to stories from the people who passed through. Now that he was older, his responsibilities kept him from doing it anymore.

The autumn festival drew in crowds as well. It was a week-long affair to celebrate the harvest season, filled with dancing and music and many different kinds of food and enough cider and ale to fill the moat at the Castle of Lions. Lanterns were hung in the trees and barns were prepared to host the dances and the whole town seemed to buzz with a renewed energy. It was Lance’s favorite time of the year.

All kinds of scents drifted on the breeze from the merchants’ stalls. Breads and meats, pastries and pies, soups and porridges, all being prepared in the blazing kitchens of the shops in preparation of the week to come. Cloth banners were being hung across the streets and cheerful notes from a fiddle danced through the air. The atmosphere itself felt intrinsically happy, and Lance was almost able to forget the unease growing inside him.

Rina was practically bouncing in anticipation when he brought Sel to a stop at a hitching post and didn’t even wait for his help before sliding off the mare’s back to the ground. He barely had time to catch the hem of her cloak before she ran off. “Whoa, there. Don’t go too far, okay?”

“I won’t,” she said.

“I mean it, Rina. Stay within sight of me.”

The little girl squirmed. “Okay!”

Lance let go of her cloak and watched in amusement as she sped off toward the duck pen. With any luck, that was where she would stay the entire time. He tied Sel’s rope to the post and slung the strap of his satchel across his shoulder. As much as he’d like to linger and see the all the preparation for the festival, he needed to return home quickly to help his mother. They had their own preparations to attend to, after all. The festival was a busy time for everyone.

It didn’t take long to buy the sack of grain and some sprigs of herbs his mother had asked for. He took a little more time sorting through the apple bins. He didn’t bother with red ones since he could pick those himself from the nearby orchard, but the green and yellow ones didn’t grow nearby. Traveling merchants brought them regularly during the fall, and his siblings loved it when he brought them home. He also bought some blueberries and figs before deciding to call the trip complete.

He opened his mouth to call for Rina to get going, but was interrupted by someone calling his name.

“Lance, my boy! I haven’t seen you around lately!”

He turned and smiled when his eyes landed on a cheery face. “Hi, Mr. Garen. How’ve you been?”

He was always happy to see the postman. Garen was a long time friend of their family and always took the time to answer Lance’s questions about the outside world. Lance had fond memories of sitting in his shop on a table, listening to the old traveler talk about his journeys through the kingdom.

The large man clapped a hand on Lance’s shoulder. “Busy, with the festival coming up, but I couldn’t be better. How are you? How is your mother?”

“We’re fine. Mama says she’s going to bring you a pie after Laeum Day.”

“Thank her for me, lad.” The man’s mood shifted a bit then. His hand dropped from Lance’s shoulder and he reached into the pouch at his belt. “I’m glad I saw you today. I was going to bring this by your house once I had a spare minute, but Fyra knows when that would be. Here. It’s from Rilith.” He pulled out a sealed envelope.

Lance took it, excitement swelling inside him. “From Hunk?”

Garen grinned. “I’d expect so. I was beginning to worry; you two haven’t exchanged letters in a while.”

“He’s probably had a lot going on.” Lance stared at the letter, wishing to open it right at that moment, but he figured he had better wait. He tucked the envelope into his bag.

In truth, he had been a little on edge since he hadn’t heard from his childhood friend in over a month. Hunk had moved to the neighboring town eight years ago, but they sent each other letters whenever they could. Lance had only seen him the handful of times he’d come back to Yorra. One day he was determined to visit him in Rilith, but his mother discouraged it. He would have to borrow a horse, since Sel wasn’t strong enough to make the three day journey, and she was loathe for him to travel alone, even if it was barely past the valley. Lance himself was nervous about the prospect of leaving his family for a week.

The letter was a bit of a relief. He was eager to read what Hunk had written.

“You two were inseparable when you were boys,” Garen said. “I’m sure he would only stop writing you if he were dead.”

Lance smiled. “I’m sure you’re right. Thank you, Mr. Garen.”

“Keep out of trouble, Lance, and tell Ilva I said hello. I’ll see you during the festival.”

Lance waved as the man walked off toward his shop and began to make his way toward where Rina was still cooing at the ducks. That sense of wrongness still nagged at him. It had been eating away at the back of his mind this whole time, fighting its way to the forefront of his thoughts despite his attempts to suppress it. It was unsettling. He just wanted it to go away. 

“Rina, it’s time to go,” he said, coming to stand next to where she was kneeling beside the duck pen.

She turned large blue eyes up to him. “But I didn’t get to do any shopping!”

“I’ll bring you back when the festival starts. Now come on. Mama needs our help today.”

She huffed unhappily, but bid the ducks goodbye and took Lance’s hand. 

On the ride back, she talked endlessly about the animals in the market and everything she wanted to see at the festival. Lance tried to listen and hummed every once in a while to show he was paying attention, but he couldn’t focus. His stomach felt strange, like it was turning somersaults in his gut. His heart pounded against his ribs, urging him to do something, but he didn’t know what. The sense of anticipation grew more and more intense as Sel brought them closer to the bridge that passed over the creek. Lance sweated. He could feel adrenaline pumping through his veins, like he could jump out of his skin.

Rina tugged at his sleeve. “Brother.”

He blinked, trying to swallow down this strange agitation. “What?”

“There’s a person on the side of the road.”

He looked to where she was pointing.

His heart leapt in his chest.

Behind the stone wall of the bridge, a pair of legs was lying in the grass. With a start, Lance grabbed the reigns from Rina and quickly pulled Sel to a halt.

“Lance?” Rina said.

He swung off the horse and onto the ground. “Stay there, Rina.” His voice was hoarse and uncharacteristically stern.

His heart hammered rapidly as he approached the body. Normally he would have thought that finding a person collapsed on the ground would be more off-putting, but the tremor in his hands felt more to do with excitement than apprehension. That didn’t seem right at all. 

He rounded the corner of the bridge and the rest of the body was revealed. It was a boy. He was lying stone-still in the dirt, face-down, covered by a thick black cloak and hood. Lance could only see a few locks of long black hair spilling out from beneath the fabric. _Please don’t be dead_ , he thought. Finding the corpse of a stranger was the last thing he wanted to do this morning.

He bit his lip and reached out to touch the boy’s shoulder. Nothing happened. Emboldened, Lance gripped and arm and slowly turned him onto his back.

The first thing he noticed was a lot of blood. It stained the boy’s clothes and hands and the ground below him, and though it looked dried, the amount was worrying. Lance pressed two fingers against his pale neck, and breathed out sharply when he felt a faint, thready pulse.

“Rina,” he called, trying to keep his voice lighthearted.

“What?”

“Can you run back to the house really fast? Tell Mama I’m bringing a guest and that he’ll need bandages.”

From the corner of his eye, he could see Rina leaning forward to get a better look and he shielded the blood from her with his back. “Is he dead?”

“No, he’s just asleep. I’m going to let him ride Sel, so you’ll have to run, okay?”

“But I wanna see!” She squirmed and slid her way down the mare’s back to the ground.

Lance stood and stopped her before she got too close to the body. She was tough for a six year old, but he didn’t want her seeing so much blood. He crouched in front of her and raised his eyebrows to show that he was serious. “You’ll get to see him later. Right now I need you go on home and tell Mama I’m bringing him, okay?”

Rina shifted on her feet, clearly unsure, but another stern look from Lance made her nod. “Okay.”

“Good girl. Now hurry.”

He watched her take off down the road and waited until she was out of sight before kneeling again beside the unconscious stranger. His breathing was shallow and slow, and the pallor of his face was a testament to just how much blood he must have lost during the night. Lance’s gaze wandered down his body, taking in the black leather chestpiece criss-crossed with belts and buckles, spaulders, and the pair of short-swords strapped to his back. He’d never seen clothes quite like his before.

Then he saw the broken arrow shaft protruding from the thigh of his right leg and cursed. This was not going to be an easy task.

He first tied Sel to the side of the bridge to keep her steady, and then set to work getting the boy on her back. Lance might be thin, but he was by no means weak. Years of chopping firewood and hauling carts and carrying his younger siblings ensured that. He was grateful as he hauled up the stranger; the leather armor weighed more than he expected.

It took a good bit of maneuvering, but he managed to finally get the boy draped across Sel’s back. As he started walking her back home, he prayed to Fyra that his mother wouldn’t throw a fit.

 

—

 

Lance leaned inside of the door. “Mama?”

“Lance,” his mother called back. A moment later she appeared from the kitchen, wiping flour from her hands onto her apron. “What in the world is going on? What has Rina been on about?”

Lance bit his lip. “You should probably come and see.”

A look of concern passed over Ilva’s face as she followed Lance out the door.

When she saw the limp body slumped over the horse’s back, she stopped short and looked at Lance sharply. “Who is he?”

“I don’t know. He was lying on the side of the road by the north bridge. He’s hurt.”

She pursed her lips and placed her hands on her hips, assessing the raven-haired stranger’s flaccid form. “Why didn’t you take him to the healer?”

“If he dies, we’ll have to pay his fee. I thought you’d know what to do.”

Lance watched the woman closely. Her expression was torn. He knew how big a heart she had, how quick she was to help others, but he also knew she had good reason to be wary of letting strangers into their home.

“I’ll watch him,” Lance said. “Just until he wakes up. Then we can send him to the healer. Besides, maybe he’s rich. He can pay us for saving his life.”

Ilva tilted her head. “Absolutely not. If I save a life, it will not be for compensation.”

Lance lifted his brows. “Then…?”

She sighed. “Take him inside. I’ll look at his wounds.”

Lance nodded. He pulled the boy into his arms and carried him inside the house, back to the bedroom, and laid him out on the thin mattress of his own bed.

Three sets of little footsteps padded across the floor behind him.

“Who is that, Mama?”

Ilva stopped the children in the doorway. “Stay outside. You’re not to come in until I say. Is that understood?”

Lance heard many muffled protests, but his attention was on the stranger. There was a sheen of sweat on his face now, his breathing uneven. Lance undid the buckles on the straps holding the short-swords and removed them—in the back of his mind he made a note to inspect them closely later. His fingers flew over the belts of the leather armor, uncovering his torso as quickly as he could.

A moment later Ilva appeared at his side, rolling up her sleeves. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.”

“He’s bleeding from his stomach, I think,” Lance said. “And there’s an arrow in his leg.”

“Goodness. What on earth has he been doing?”

“I’d like to know.”

He and his mother carefully removed the boy of his belts and chestpiece, revealing a simple thin tunic underneath. The bloody tear was on the left side of his torso, directly under his ribs.

“Well, I’d thought this would be much worse,” Ilva muttered when she rolled up the shirt, exposing the wound. “It doesn’t look to be too deep, but he’ll need sutures.”

Lance winced. He remembered when he’d fallen from a tree, once, and a broken branch had sliced open the side of his leg. His mother had stitched it up, and it was one of the worst experiences of his life. At least this stranger was still unconscious.

The door opened, and Lynn entered with a stack of rags and bandages and a basin of water. She handed them off to Ilva and bent over the stranger, pushing locks of brown hair behind her ears. “He’s not from anywhere near the valley, is he?” she breathed, gaze captivated.

“I don’t expect so,” their mother said, dabbing at the cut with a wet towel.

“What do you think he’s doing in Yorra? And with these wounds?”

“I couldn’t begin to guess.”

Lynn looked up, a glint in her eye. “He’s handsome.”

Lance made a face. “You have a fiancee, Lynn.”

“It doesn’t mean I can’t think he’s handsome. He’s too young for me, anyway.” 

A loud crash rang through the house. All three jumped.

Ilva groaned and rose to her feet. “Lynn, please go keep an eye on your brother and sisters. I’m going to get some herbs. Watch him, Lance. Raise his feet up and cover him with a blanket.”

Lance nodded, and Ilva and Lynn swept out of the room.

He did as his mother instructed. Soon the boy was undressed down to his undergarments and lying under a heavy quilt. Lance pulled up a stool and sat at the bedside, his gaze trained on the stranger’s pale face.

He was handsome. Lynn had been right about that. Now that the initial rush of panic had ebbed, Lance took the time to observe him more closely. He had sharp features, a sloping nose and narrow chin. His hair was black as night, a shade Lance had only seen on travelers passing through Yorra a handful of times. Dark, thick eyelashes fanned out across his cheeks. He almost looked delicate, but there was a rough, hardened aspect to him that suggested he was anything but.

Lance wanted to speak to him.

On a whim, he reached out and shook his shoulder gently. “Hey. Wake up.”

He jumped back as if he’d been burned when the boy’s head turned slightly and a low groan emitted from his mouth. Still, he didn’t wake.

After a few seconds, Lance leaned forward again. He dared to poke his cheek. “Hellooo?”

Those dark eyelashes fluttered against pale cheeks, and finally opened to reveal glazed indigo irises.

Lance’s heart jumped. He leaned far over the boy’s face. “Hey. Can you hear me?”

The stranger groaned again. His eyes met Lance’s, but were void of comprehension.

“Can you talk?” Lance asked.

“Wh…” His voice was weak and raspy. It seemed a struggle to get anything out. “Who’re you?”

“I’m Lance. Don’t worry, you’re safe.” He was nearly wild with excitement. He doubted the boy would stay awake for long, but this must be a good sign. “What’s your name?”

The boy closed his eyes again and took several deep breaths before murmuring, “Keith.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thank you for reading!


End file.
